


Hail Turning Rain

by zonophone



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zonophone/pseuds/zonophone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Thursdays last period is Math. Time passes filled with stupid loud laughter and threats of murdering Mutsu, who's as usual putting the teacher in place, and Matako thinks again that she's really cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hail Turning Rain

Bansai's singing the moment she comes to full realisation. She'll regret this later. Shinsuke isn't there, of course, it's only her, Bansai, Takechi, and Nizou. Bansai's stood up, while the rest have remained seated under the tree, and though he has his sunglasses on she knows his eyes are closed, and that makes it even worse.  
“Now I'll sing for you--”  
“Stop!” she yells, “just shut up!”  
“But you haven't heard this one, it's new.”  
That's exactly when it hits her (technically, he isn't singing) and she wishes maybe that it didn't (it's Monday after all), but she can't ignore it. She gathers her things, flings the strap of her school bag across her chest and walks away.  
Bansai calls out to her, “You'll miss the best part!”  
“I don't care!” and then she's free.

 

It's not until the next day that she understands freedom is boring. Lonely. She'd tried to leave Shinsuke's gang before, for the same reasons, but something (something that rhymed with her yelling his name whenever she set eyes on him, and the unprompted, unrequited promise of always being by his side) made her stay. All in all Bansai was her friend, and who else would stop him from singing in class, eyes closed and making a fool of himself? Who would stop that pervert Takechi? And Nizou... well, she doesn't actually care about him at all. All in all, they were the ones she saw most, despite being there for Shinsuke. And he either waits, secluded, for them to finish what they're meant to, or he's around Katsura, even though Katsura's technically persona non grata, or should be. All in all, there's really no room for her unless she's constantly etching it, over and over, pretending she doesn't notice how much effort she puts into carving her place there, by his side, when it looks effortless for Bansai, for Kamui, even for Katsura.

 

When lunch rears its head, she's about to follow Bansai once he stands up from the seat in front of her, out of habit, but stops herself. When he turns to see her sitting still his eyebrows rise slightly.  
“I'm not going. Probably no more.” She shouldn't have said probably.  
“Oh,” he nods sharply, “I'll show you the new song later, then.”  
“I won't wanna hear it later, either!”

She remains at her desk, eats her lunch there. No one approaches her, and the few times she raises her gaze from the lunch box at her desk, those who find themselves on its path startle, move away from it as fast as it's possible for them, depending on their skills. She's used to it, mostly. It's ridiculous, and a little insulting (especially because it seems more pronounced than when they face Takechi or Bansai), but easy to grow used to, to live with.

 

On Thursdays last period is Math. Time passes filled with stupid loud laughter, and threats of murdering Mutsu, who's as usual putting the teacher in place, and Matako thinks again that she's really cool. She's grateful Bansai's the only one in the class with her, grateful for different sections within the same year, grateful for desks to eat at, alone. If she doesn't do lunch then she might be lucky enough not to see Shinsuke all day. The prospect is only half-way a promising one, far too steeped in lonesome to be thoroughly enjoyable. Two years of working herself into a place are hard to unravel, hard to get back. It feels empty, and she hates it when Sakamoto speaks of astrophysics for no reason, because it only makes it worse. She's grateful whenever his ramblings turn into loud threats of “I'll kill you, Mutsu” followed by booming laughter because it means he won't steer off course anymore, he won't talk of space anymore.

 

In between periods, Bansai turns to her and relays information. Nothing useful, of course. Nothing soothing. At the end of the day, when they stand by their lockers together, Shinsuke walks by and she feels invisible. Nothing's really changed except that lunch period isn't spent with them anymore. Bansai still sings with his eyes closed, Takechi still wanders off to middle-schools if she doesn't inform an adult, and she's invisible to Shinsuke in every respect.

 

It takes her a week or so to notice Hijikata's the only one who doesn't run off at the sight of her, he even scowls for no reason. It's information of absolutely no use because she wouldn't be caught dead hanging around the disciplinary committee's president. It's enough that she's (unofficially?) out of the gang, she doesn't need to be joining the enemy.  
Of course, there's also Mutsu, who sometimes nods good morning her way, and though she's stopped asking if Matako'll go to practice that day (she did so two years ago, even), she never runs, never gives away that she knows she should, like everyone else, be scared of Matako. But obviously she wouldn't be. Matako sometimes still finds herself thinking about her in the archery club, years ago, especially when Mutsu's just cooly told Sakamoto she'll murder him, gotten him to get back on track with class.

 

Three weeks in (she's only seen Shinsuke four times in the span of all of those days and it's too much and not enough) and she's already, again, listening to Bansai's new song, the same one. She regrets knowing that it's the same one, that it's the soundtrack of her making a life-altering decision (possibly the trigger?), because this prompts her to listen to it for far longer than should be expected. When he stops her fingers from drumming on her desk (could be she's messing up his rhythm), she covers his mouth with her hand, “Enough!” very loud on her throat, “no one'd wanna listen ta this so many times!”  
“I was sure you'd like it,” is all he says and she huffs, distractedly sets her sight on Mutsu by the window on the opposite side of the classroom, the way her hair slides from her shoulder to her back as she looks up to hand Sarutobi a magazine, receives her pay, and notes something down. Matako barely registers herself agreeing to listen to the rest of the song once school is done.

 

She's definitely, definitely not prone to nostalgia, she doesn't keep memories of Shinsuke's smiles, smirks, giggles, deep in her bones, a journal she didn't know she started writing. She doesn't play at reliving the day she met him, the day she carved a one-sided promise on her right arm. It's the same with everything else. She might remember Mutsu's form, the way she looked when she drew and loosened arrows during practice, the way others, everyone really, gathered around her, all eyes on her hand, the tight string behind her ear, the curve of her hair in a high ponytail, eyes on her even when the arrow had already hit the target, across the yard, because her _zanshin_ , too, was perfect, but that's it. Surely, everyone else remembers, too.  
“Will you eat that?” Bansai's chopsticks aim for the rest of her rice.  
“Yes! Y'can't have it!” He shouldn't even be here, considering, but it's true, as well, that they didn't always have lunch together, even if she tried always to be by Shinsuke's side, Bansai and the others didn't. There must've been things and places they frequented, then. She tries not to think about how little she knows, how much she's missed, how she can still feel the tension of the bow on her fingers.  
She won't actually eat the rest of her lunch, but losing to Bansai seems like an even worse alternative.

 

Technically, she still belongs to the club, at least, she figures, they should remember how great she was, how flawless her form was, even if it wasn't perfect like Mutsu's, so, technically, she's still a member. Technically, she could still attend practice, watch Mutsu in uniform, silently focused on the target, missing not even once.

 

Courage is the last thing she lacks. Instead of knowing Bansai's eyes are closed behind the sunglasses as he mouths lyrics and keeps pace with his foot, she wanders into practice, offers him no excuse.  
Many of the members she doesn't know, they're on lower grades and joined after she'd already left, after she'd met Shinsuke the second term of her first year, when autumn had first started giving way to winter. A couple of them see her watching from the sidelines and she can almost smell their fear from where she stands. Loud whispers are settled only once Mutsu's turn comes, and her footwork is impeccable, same as Matako remembers. Even with Sakamoto's loud, idiotic laughter splintering the air, the ground, like an earthquake (“Aha haha haha, very good Mutsu!!”) everything, from her stance to her grip to her hair to the expression on her face is perfect. Even the way she cooly turns the bow to point at Sakamoto while he keeps laughing, “Why d'you want me to die so badly, Mutsu, aha hahaha? I hate you, aha ha!” punctuated by the cheering of the other members, their rhythmic chants of “Captain” over and over.

Mutsu lowers the bow and looks over at Matako, startling her, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing, and she has trouble remembering the last time she felt that way, a mix of excitement and guilt and embarrassment.  
The fact that she doesn't know where to put her hands, on her hips, by her side, fixing her hair, should give her away, but she tries to play it off as she watches Mutsu walk towards her.  
“You're back,” is all she says and Matako feels the mixture's gotten a boost, everything's been heightened.  
“I-I just wanted to watch!”  
“You're welcome anytime,” she says anyway, like she doesn't believe Matako, and behind her the towering figure of Sakamoto agrees.  
“Yes, Kijima, aha haha haha, you were pretty good too!”  
Mutsu turns sharply to glare at him, but when she looks back at Matako her regular expression's returned, “I hope you do come back,” and with this she leaves to help out a first year who's calling for her and Sakamoto.

 

It starts raining while she walks home, and she curses loudly, hurries her step, though she's entirely soaked just a few sprints into the run, her socks clinging to her calves, sticky.  
Curled up on her bed in the dark she listens to the low murmur of the rain, distant white noise, and knows it's the fact that Shinsuke doesn't seem to care that hurts the most. Some hopeful, minuscule part in her thought it'd be the opposite, had all but convinced her to forget her self-imposed exile if he hinted at even the tiniest bit of concern. She set herself up for failure, clearly. At least she's aware. It doesn't really matter if she is when Shinsuke walks by (it's only been four or five times) and she blends in with the colours of the background. Everything is the same, after all.

 

–

 

Every day of the following week she escapes Bansai's idiotically titled song by watching the _kyudo_ club practice after class. Because Mutsu greets her every time, the members of the club acknowledge her with increasing ease, slowly getting used to her at the sidelines, to her involuntary cheering of their captain. By the end of it, as she gets ready to head there, she watches Mutsu selling a book to Tatsumi, stares at them for a while before she knows what she's doing. It's too late because Mutsu walks over, anyway.  
“You going today?”  
“Yeah!” She didn't mean to be that loud.  
Mutsu nods. “You gonna join up again?”  
“Ah--”  
“Come tomorrow for morning practice, there's less people. Sakamoto never comes either, so's better.”  
“Sure,” she says, and understands Mutsu's standing there waiting for her so they head to club together, and in trying to hurry she drops her things and picks them back up quickly, in the same motion. When she stands back up Mutsu's staring at her and Matako feels she might drop her stuff again.  
“Ya should join up again soon, we're gonna hafta quit the club soon, anyway,” she says.  
“Yeah, cos of exams, right?”  
“Ya going to university?”  
“I guess,” Matako wishes she didn't think about Shinsuke when the question hits the air, “You?”  
“Yeah.”  
They've already reached the club when Matako realises Mutsu kept her pace, only started walking when she was ready.

 

“It's been more than a month, I will soon start working on a new one, and you still have not listened to it.”  
“How's that my problem?”  
“Just listen.”  
She braces herself for what's coming, especially when he stands to air-guitar the notes surely playing in his head. “Bansai...”  
He keeps on singing—the song isn't terrible, the melody is pretty alright, but the lyrics are stupid and she worries, not for the first or twelfth time, about his health—and for a second she admires him, his dedication. Only a second. When she realises Mutsu's watching them, listening to him, and, worst of all, so is Hijikata, she pushes him back down into his seat. “That was great, Bansai!”  
“I wasn't done.”  
“I don't care.”  
“Keep it down you two,” Hijikata frowns. Maybe he thinks he looks scary.  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
“Oi, I mean it.”  
“Yeah,” she shrugs, “I don't wanna listen to it either, okay.”

 Hijikata goes back to his desk, next to Mutsu, where she conducts sales.  
“Music's a good branching out idea,” Mutsu tells him, looking straight ahead. Matako watches her back.  
“Not a chance!”  
Matako laughs, he seems to be fuming over nothing, and she wishes she could see Mutsu's face.  
“You haven't told me what you think,” Bansai interrupts, startling, inconsiderate.  
“I loved it! It's my favorite song'a yours!” she's too loud (she hears Hijikata groaning), and excuses herself. The blisters on her palm are still aching from the previous days. She'd really lost her practice, it's definitely not something she'll get back in a couple of days, she thinks, watching clear water run over her injured hands.

 

After practice Mutsu asks to see her hands and the thoughtful expression on her face, softened when she reaches up and unties her ponytail, makes them—Matako's sure—sweat, so she rubs both hands at her sides, case Mutsu notices. At this Mutsu looks up at her.  
“Wait,” she says after she's already turned.  
When she comes back she hands Matako a small tube of cream.  
“This should help.”

 

Two days later, during Literature class, when Sakata calls out “Hiii-jiii-kaaa-taaa” for him to read out loud, she turns to where he's seated but sees Mutsu, next to him, her profile cut out against the window, grey overcast sky outside, and Matako almost gasps, promptly returns her eyes to the text book open on her desk, crosses her legs, chews on her hair. Hijikata reads some passage out loud in some weird way that makes no sense to her and she wonders if it's him who's unable to speak or her who can't listen. The muffled beats from Bansai's headphones in front of her slowly seem to start making sense again, functioning like an anchor she can rely on. She knows what this is, and wastes no time trying to push it away. It's futile after all, this is who she is.

 

-

 

Last time she tried this (last time she tried this she had her brother cook the meal for her under the threat of destroying his toy collection) it didn't have the intended reaction. Or any reaction at all. She does her best to fix the meal herself this time, but ends up supervising her little brother's skill at making animal-shaped eggs (pretty good considering he drops two dishes for no real reason) and through it all excitement and expectation builds up, she smiles and tries to frown it away. When she's tossing around in her bed she remembers the rainy night a while back and the excitement bubbling in her stomach turns into emptiness. She pretends she's sleeping, manages to fool herself.

She comes back from retrieving the lunch boxes from her locker and stops herself at the classroom entrance when she catches sight of Mutsu sitting at her desk, elbow propped up on Hijikata's, where his head is rested, hidden from view by his folded arms. Mutsu's talking—Matako can't make out what it's about from where she is—when suddenly he snaps up—looks embarrassed, and angry—and Mutsu smiles. She smiles. It's soft and slow and it's gone when she starts speaking again—masked by her lips moving, but still there—and when he buries his face in his arms again, it comes back, more pronounced, like she's indulging herself with it. Matako leaves, walks to the bathroom, stares at her reflection in the mirror (there's a smile she can't erase), and walks back once she thinks she's calm enough.

Mutsu looks up at her, at the lunch box she's offering, and though the soft smile is gone, the look of surprise on her face is just as exciting.  
Beside her, Hijikata arches an eyebrow, smirks at Mutsu, and leaves his seat, then the classroom. Matako knows this is the first time she's thought anything positive of him.  
“Thanks,” Mutsu says once Matako's sat down, using the chair of the student in front.  
“Yer welcome,” too loud, again.  
“Didja make this yerself?”  
“Yeah!”  
The way Mutsu stares at her for more than just a moment, like there's something she's forgotten and is trying to remember, makes her heart skip a beat.  
“Thanks,” she repeats and Matako almost shrieks, almost jumps up and down, resorts to smiling widely at her.  
“Y'welcome!”  
Mutsu focuses on the food, Matako thinks she uses the same intensity to do even this, even just eating lunch, and is grateful her brother's a good cook.  
“This is good,” Mutsu says, mouth full.  
“I know, I like it a lot too!”  
“Hmm.”  
“What's yer favorite, I'll make that for ya.”  
“Errythin,” Mutsu doesn't slow down, she's practically done, meanwhile Matako's taken just a couple of bites.  
Mutsu probably doesn't mean she wants Matako to make everything for her, but it doesn't stop her from clutching her face.  
“Your hands better?” Mutsu says once she's finished eating, eyeing the food still on Matako's box.  
“Yeah, cream helped,” and then, “ya want some more?”  
“Good,” and then, “if ya don't.”  
“I-If you're still hungry I'll make more next time!”  
“Huh? Yeah... I have mine too, so's fine.”  
“Oh, yeah,” it's vaguely disappointing. Barely so.  
“I'd like it if you made more for me.”  
“Oh, yeah!”  
While Mutsu wolves down the lunch she brought herself, Matako talks about the food she likes, this little café around the corner from her place where they make her favourite mochi.  
“We should go,” Mutsu says, mouth full again, “I'anna see't.”  
The chopsticks on Matako's hands shake.  
“Y'like cake shops? I wanna go t'one too.”  
Ah, the chopsticks'll get sweaty, so she has to put them down, straighten the skirt on her lap while she bites her lip.  
“Me too!” she says, looking at her lap, too loud.  
From the corner of her eyes, she catches Mutsu nodding.

 

When she passes the café on her way home after practice she takes out her phone and stares at the email Mutsu sent her so she could add her contact info. She wonders if Mutsu'll smile when she comes to the café, relives the smile she... gave Hijikata. She'd never known they were friends. Many things, social trivialities and diplomatic relations inside the classroom escaped her grasp—her focus was outside of it, on Shinsuke—but something like this—who the enemy conferred with—shouldn't have.

 

On speaker phone, she agrees to listen to Bansai's _Crying is like Playing Russian Roulette_ song in exchange for advice.  
The faulty speakers and Bansai's loud guitar blare loudly, horribly.  
“Oi, idiot, wait a minute! My brother's asleep!”  
He sighs, reminds her she owns some nice headphones, his old ones, a birthday present from him, and waits for around two seconds before he's at it again.

“So she's friends with Hijikata. What's the problem?”  
“There's no problem!! Who said there was a problem!! I just wondered why I didn't know before, y'know, s'all!”  
“Ah. You were busy, I daresay.”  
“Ah,” of course.  
“Hey, you're good at archery. Itou sent me a video.”  
“W-what?! That creep! I'm gonna kill him!”  
“I liked it. Shinsuke said you were good too.”  
“Hm. Thanks.”

 

It takes her a while before she understands why not having noticed Mutsu and Hijikata's friendship before confused her so badly. She doesn't regret the past years, she's proud of them. In the end, she'd do it all again, too, if it came to pass. That's who she is, and that's how her feelings are. She doesn't regret the years but wishes, regardless, that certain things hadn't escaped her mind, at least. She only wishes certain things hadn't passed her by. Like later, much later, when she notices that Hijikata isn't exactly on good terms with anyone other than Mutsu, but, more importantly (and actually surprising), Mutsu doesn't really seem friendly with anyone other than Hijikata. And her. And for a second or two she revels on the feeling of being part of someone's scope, someone with such a reduced one, too.

 

–

 

Mutsu's not there on Saturday for practice. She does her best anyway, thinks of Mutsu's hair swaying whenever she releases the arrow, and her shots always connect. The other members, even Itou, have gotten used to her presence, to her form, and they cheer for her too. She lets herself smile, but while she's changing she emails Mutsu, asks why she's not there too.  
In return she receives a picture of Mutsu and a little girl whose smile takes up almost all the picture.  
>babysitting.  
>kamui's little sister, kagura, looks like him except actually cute. i'm babysitting for sakata though. sakamoto and him are hungover.  
Matako smiles, they'll probably be dead soon enough, too.  
>i'm sorry i missed it. let's go to the café tomorrow?  
She puts the phone on top of her _yugake_ , wipes her hands with the towel, because she knows they're sweating.  
When she finally replies, on her way home, it's just “Yeah!!!” and a string of emotes. After a couple of minutes she volunteers a time and attaches a map to the place in a second email. Mutsu replies with a picture of Kagura and her with their thumbs up.

 

It's the familiarity of this kind of emptiness that brings tears to her eyes. Even though she arrived around thirty minutes early, because anticipation was killing her, it's been over an hour, nearing hour and a half. When she blinks they stream down her cheeks and she wants to laugh but all she can do is chew on a black straw she took from the counter. She shifts in her seat on the window booth inside the café, checks her emails one more time, but still there's nothing there. After two steady breaths she uses the camera on her phone to check if her make up's run (it hasn't) and she's just putting it down when she hears the commotion outside. Sakamoto's stepped out of a car and he's laughing (crying?) while Mutsu steps out of the passengers side and runs to kick him in the shins, looking angry in a way Matako has never seen her before. She watches Mutsu walk towards the entrance of the café and then turn back to push Sakamoto to stop him from following her, until she finally makes it inside, and he's left outside, laughing (crying.)

“I'm really sorry,” she says before she's reached the booth. “Stupid idiot Sakamoto broke my phone, decided to take a scenery route, got us lost, we had no map because of him, stopped for directions and bought ice cream, he wanted to come in to explain and apologise but that would make it worse, I hope he crashes on his way back.”  
Ah. Matako hadn't heard Mutsu ranting in one breath since first year, when they'd been short on gear because of Sakamoto.  
“It's okay,” she smiles.  
“It's not. I'm gonna kill'im.”  
“Yer here now.”  
Mutsu nods and her features soften, her eyebrows separate a little. She slides on the seat in front of Matako's, and glances at the menu before saying, without looking at her, “I'll make it up to ya.”  
She places her hands on her lap, cleans her palms, and hums.  
“Thanks.”  
“I like western cakes,” Mutsu says, and her tone is endearing. Matako wants to shriek, again. She always does.  
“Me too!”  
Then, it happens. Mutsu's smile, the one she witnessed secretly, is there when she looks up at Matako, fleeting but there. She has to resist the urge to excuse herself, to jump around in the emptiness of the bathroom.  
The waitress takes their order, winks at Matako (probably saw her crying earlier), and Mutsu tells her that Sakamoto promised to replace her phone with a brand new one, but that doesn't make anything right.  
“Forgot ta tell Toshirou I can't get Mr. Kondou the magazines he asked fer, too” she says, a reminder to herself, Matako figures.  
“Who's Toshirou?”  
“Hm? Hijikata.”  
“Oh, I had no idea he had a name,” she yelps, “that that was his name!!”  
Mutsu laughs and Matako's legs prop her up unwillingly. She has to seat herself down again.  
The waitress comes and Mutsu all but swallows her piece of chocolate cake before the plate hits the table.  
It's nothing new, really, finding it impossible to fight back smiles, to suppress them when they keep coming like a flood, she has to alternate between eating, clutching her face, and speaking.  
“You been here before, no?”  
“Yeah! One time, with Bansai and Shinsu-- Eh.”  
Mutsu stares like she doesn't understand.  
“Takasugi, no?”  
“Y-yeah, him.”  
“Not friends anymore?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Liked him a lot, didn't ya?”  
Matako stares at her empty plate, the foam on her empty cappuccino cup.  
“I think I always will, in a way. I, now, I like... someone else, but I don't think I'll ever stop feeling how I did about him,” like she might carry everyone she ever falls in love with around with her, forever. “S'weird, huh?”  
A smile like this one, sad, unfocused, staring at empty plates and dirty silverware, has a different weight than the ones from before, that come so easily, that are so easy to replace, she realises.  
“Nah, that's what's great about ya, I think,” Mutsu says.  
From the tone of voice, just that, Matako knows the smile is back on her lips and even if the weight is still there, in her heart, it's not empty at all.  
“M'glad yer blisters are gone,” Mutsu says softly when she holds her hand across the table.

 

–

 

Seated at the kotatsu, she studies History, marvels at the fact that it's not as hard as she once thought. Her brother sits with her, because part of the deal is he's allowed to be around Matako whenever he pleases, talk without interruption, and not have to bear the brunt of her terrible temper, as long as Mutsu keeps enjoying his cooking. They're sharing cookies he baked earlier, and she finds herself smiling, because she likes this. She likes that History isn't hard, that the cookies are good, that her brother is kind, sometimes.  
“So ya gonna go to university? Thoughtcha weren't.”  
“I don't know! Can't hurt to have the option."  
“That's pretty smart.”  
“I know!”

 

During lunch Bansai stays with her, tells her he's started rewriting an old song, wants her opinion. She loudly objects, fights his grubby hands off her food.  
“Will you also be retiring from your club?”  
“Huh?”  
“Everyone seems to be.”  
“Oh, yeah. Guess we'ave to.”  
“You'll have more time to listen to my songs. I also want to—”  
“Ya need to stop!!”  
“You both do,” Hijikata comes into the classroom. Mutsu's with him. She returns the lunch box to Matako.  
“Was delicious,” she says, and hovers by Matako's desk for a second, glances at Hijikata who's gone to take his seat on the other side of the classroom. “I got ya this,” in her hand a phone strap of a colourful, cartoonish cute bow and arrow. “For yer phone.”

Hijikata doesn't follow through on his threats of advising for detention on account of shrieking only because Mutsu convinces him not to. It's alright because while he nags and argues, Mutsu's smile, there because of Matako's shrieks, doesn't waver.

 

That second year Katsura's friends with, Ikumatsu, is the new captain. Mutsu names her. Kneeling down in an elegant pose, she shoots and three of her four arrows reach the _mato_. Mutsu claps along with everyone else and while she watches her everything feels too nostalgic. The breeze is warm, gently caresses Mutsu's ponytail, makes Matako's hands sting. One third year pretends not to cry, and a couple of first years do cry, “Don't leave us, Captain,” while Sakamoto's laughter makes everything seem cheap, “Don't leave us alone with him!”  
“Aha haha ha, this is all your fault, Mutsu!”  
She agrees to visit them when she has free time, gets Matako to agree as well, and the younger members cheer. Even Itou seems sad to leave, maybe. Matako'd never thought she would use bittersweet to describe anything in her life. Even Sakamoto's laugh seems full of the past, a distant memory. Suddenly she's aware of the point where life becomes experience. Layered memories holding the traces of everyone she meets, everyone she carries around.

All of the members of the club have already left once Mutsu and her are done organising, putting their gear away one last time. Mutsu's hair's still up in a ponytail and when she looks at Matako, serious and intense, Matako's hand raises up to it, unties it in just one motion, and she watches Mutsu's hair fall on her shoulders down her back. She gathers it with one hand so she can put the other one around her nape, and Mutsu smiles. She has to tiptoe to reach Matako's lips, and Matako's hips tingle where Mutsu poses her hands for balance.

 

**Author's Note:**

> not exactly 3z but borrows heavily from it  
> this is embarrassing of course but also i want to be happy and spoil myself  
> archery because shooting gun clubs are not a good idea tbh  
> thanks to 20pi@tumblr for the mutsumata art, the only reason this exists at all in the material world


End file.
